


La belle et l’araignée

by downpourcity



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast Fusion, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-07 21:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10370034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/downpourcity/pseuds/downpourcity
Summary: A Princess is turned as cold as ice and a witch falls in love. Listen closely as I spin a tale of tragedy and love, life and death, sunshine and rain, fear and excitement. The Widowmaker is not who she seems, the witch is kind, and the inventor is a skeptic who only sees omnics as playthings and not people. Will the staff of her household return to being who they always wanted to be, or will it be too late?





	1. A Strange Beginning

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, lived a young princess who lived in a glorious and shining castle. She had everything in her heart that she desired, from ballet to baking beautiful pastries to taking care of her dear husband. On a cold winter night, the princess was met with a man in a dark black coat, shivering and wailing for her to let him in. She did as he wished, wanting nothing more than to spread kindness. The man was handsome as he entered the oil lamp lit halls, but as soon as she led him in further he revealed his true self. A twisted ugly grin ran his face and that night she was cursed and her husband lay dead. Her staff, friends to her, lay cursed too, leaving the woman colder than winter with no emotion and the rest left to the man’s forceful distortion. She bore no shame for her transformation, accepting it rather quickly, but the land became afraid and forbid anyone to visit her castle. The only window to the outside world was a scope tethered to her bow. The man’s only gift was a sheet of paper sharing with her the details of her death if she were to continue living like this. The loneliness ate at her soul, leaving her locked in her room while the others tried to pick up the pieces of their broken and mentally warped world.

A young witch walked through town smiling at all those she passed. The sun was out and shining and it was utterly breathtaking out. She clung to herself hoping to make a quick trip from the store to home without attracting the attention of anyone but the birds in the sky. She carried ingredients in a bag to her side. She had to return home to her friend and housemate, Mister Lindholm.

From far away, a tall woman with striking black hair and a braid stood watching this young woman. Her heart pounded out of her chest, a smile climbing onto her lips. She nudged the man standing next to her. He looked up to her with the same dreamy expression.

“I’ve got my eyes on the sky.” She smiled, then gawked at Genji’s facial expression.  
  
“I have my eyes on Ms. Ziegler.” He murmured, smiling, his smile fell out as soon as he was nudged harder.

 

“She’s going to be mine, _Sparrow_.” She retorted firmly.

His cheeks lit up pink, his face dejected. Fine. He would accept this, just for his friend. Just for Fareeha. He sighed, readying his next words. “She’d be perfect for you, Fareeha.”  
  
“I know she would be, and I’d be perfect for her.” Fareeha giggled, imaging the two of them together, arm in arm, waltzing down the aisle.   
  
Fareeha, even after showing such confidence, shyly walked towards Angela who kept walking off towards her home.

Angela tried to ignore the fact that Fareeha now followed her. However much faster she walked the other would catch up. As much as she loved Fareeha, she didn’t feel much for her like that. She didn’t feel anything for anyone now.

“Angela!” Fareeha’s voice cracked at the beginning, so she wasn’t so confident after all.

“Yes, Ms. Amari?” She stopped walking and put a smile on her face, trying her hardest not to appear flustered. Why? Fareeha would pick up on it and think of it in all the wrong reasons.

“How are you today?” She giggled, turning the giggle into a chuckle midway to cover up any insecurities that she might have.

“I’m good, thank you.” She held to her groceries tighter, attempting a kind laugh.  
  
“Would you like to accompany me to the village checkpoint to hear all of my astonishing feats?” She asked, trying to find confidence in her triumphs.

Genji rolled his eyes and was nudged again, he laughed at her, shaking his head.

“I can’t right now, I have to return home to Mr. Lindholm he’s really busy and hasn’t been eating much lately. I worry.” She answered truthfully, letting out a sigh, worry spreading in her eyes.

“Can’t you cast a spell on him to keep him forever full?” She asked in unintentional rudeness.

“No I will certainly not.” She countered quickly, glaring at the other, appalled.

“I didn’t mean for it to come out like that, Ms. Ziegler.” She bit her lip, looking at the ground. “I should go anyway.” She was flustered beyond, her heart aching at the fact she said it like that. It was her last wish to hurt Angela.

“Farewell.” She quickly turned around and began walking again, leaving Fareeha and Genji to themselves.

When she returned home, she was greeted with Torbjorn’s angry face. “It never seems to work when I want it to. It’s either one thing or another.”

“What’s wrong, Mr. Lindholm?” She asked, setting the bag down on the table in the center of the room.

“She won’t start.” He pointed at the strange device that took up the bigger half of the room.

“Do you need me to show you what’s wrong?” She asked, readying herself to get the supplies to cast a clairvoyance spell.

“No no no, I don’t need your magic interfering with my machinery, remember what happened last time?” He quickly countered, lowering his head, his face in his hands.  
  
She had given him a charm bag for good luck, but it had backfired horribly. He had good luck with the wrong things. He never broke anything on his own body, the ladies loved him when he didn’t want that, and for some strange reason, for a week, his hands were attracted to metal.

He huffed, setting a wrench on the table nearest to him. “It also doesn’t help that I was sent this letter by the Princess.”

“The Princess?” She asked, raising a brow, remembering the tales. “The dangerous one?”

“Yes, she sent me a letter telling me an omnic of mine has roamed into her gardens. I haven’t made a bastion unit in years. I don’t know why it decided to be there.” He wiped his hands clean of oil.   
  
“When are you going?” She asked, looking out the window to see that the sky was turning to afternoon.

“Dusk, most likely. I don’t want the townsfolk remembering the small… err-- crisis I started.” He rubbed the back of his head, face blushing.

“When will you be back?” She questioned, looking back towards him.   
  
“Dawn.” He answered, coughing into his arm. “The castle isn’t too far away, and I was promised not to be met with anyone when I came.”

“I shall accompany you, Mr. Lindholm.” She announced, looking towards him with full seriousness.

“No no, that won’t be necessary, I’ll be fine.” He pointed at his hammer.

“You’ll fend off the Widowmaker with _that_ if she tries to snatch you up?” She asked, appalled.

“Yes! It’s not just any hammer.” He grabbed it, smiling.

“Well, alright. Just stay safe out there.” She sighed, slumping into a nearby chair.

“I will, now help me pack, will you?” He threw at her in a joking tone, referring to his hammer and wagon. Which could pack themselves.

“I’m not a miracle worker, Mr. Lindholm.” She threw back, rolling her eyes.

\--

Fareeha sat alone in the outpost, sighing. She fiddled with a pen, and began sketching pictures of Angela onto a piece of paper.

Genji returned to his usual spot on the other side of her. “Are you dreaming of her again?”  
  
“Is it obvious?” She sighed, crumpling up the piece of paper in her hand and tossing it into the bin, in which she missed horribly. She grumbled, scribbling a few thousand lines into a new piece.

“You should just ask her.” He offered, staring out the window and off into the village.

“I can’t just ask her, asking her would be too easy. I have to make her ask me.” She pointed out, calmly sitting back.

“I see. Well, I’ll be behind you.” He cleared his throat and continued filling out paperwork that was in a messy pile on his desk.

\--

That night, the small and very strong man pulled his wagon out onto the dirt road and vanished beyond the hills that went to the darkened castle. Without his knowledge, Angela followed silently a few paces behind.

He hummed a tune, not very happy to bring this active unit back. How had it even gone there? He had begun to think it was all perhaps a trick. He didn’t care anyway; he might as well make sure. He could indeed fend off any horrors that lurked on the castle grounds.

When the inventor made it to the castle gates, they were locked. He sighed, just about to turn around. A high pitched but inviting voice greeted him.

“Are ya, Mr. Lindholm?” His voice carried an interesting scratchy quality, and an accent far stranger than he had ever heard.

“Yes, who’s askin?” He gawked up at a tall and lanky man missing an arm and leg.

“Name’s Jamison. I’m here to help you over to the unit in question. I want to thank you for coming out tonight on such short notice. I also would like to invite your guest who’s hidin’ in the bushes over there.” He laughed, pointing at the woman who’s hat stuck out like a sore thumb.

“I don’t have any gu— “He turned around, looking at where he pointed. Torbjorn jumped up and down a few times in anger. “I told ya not to follow me, girl. But you didn’t listen. You should cast a spell to fix that.”

She sighed, coming out from the bushes, brushing herself off. She wore her full traveling gear, carried a pistol, and a broom. She looked like a witch now if she didn’t before.

“Right this way.” He bowed clumsily, pointing straight at the castle. “We moved him and his friend inside for refreshments. He was lonely.”

“He?” Torbjorn questioned, a vein popping on his temple. “When did omnics have the right to that?” He hissed, groaning at the fact of his comment.

They followed the lanky man to a set of large and ominous gates. They opened as if on cue. Behind them a very large man wearing a mask greeted them.

“Hi.” He waved, taking the wagon from Torbjorn to lead them further into the castle.

Angela was taken aback by the two fellows, but she politely waved anyway. They entered a large parlor room, a fireplace the only source of light. Orange and yellow lights danced on the walls, giving the entire place an eerie vibe.

A robot, no omnic, sat in an armchair, the legs of the chair bent and on the ground, due to his size. He turned his head to greet them, whistling happily at the arrival of them.

Torbjorn sighed, wondering why in the world he had the ability to do that and why a yellow bird sat on his head. He hadn’t remembered programming that into them.

“He got lost on his way to town, and needed to be picked up.” Jamison offered out, urging them to seat. “The princess will be out shortly; she hates to leave her guests unentertained.”

Angela calmly sat, Torbjorn stood next to her, huffing and puffing and tapping his foot quite rudely. Her mind wandered to the saying, ‘Step into my parlor said the spider to the fly’. She shivered slightly, hoping the princess wasn’t as bad as people made her out to be.

Some theorized she was an actual spider, some said she was just a woman with zombie-like features. Others said she was half spider half woman. Most didn’t dare speak of her, they feared that their whispers would carry up the hills and into her ears.

A tall woman with thin features and striking golden eyes appeared out from the dark. Her skin hit the orange, revealing it a pale blue almost purple color. Angela’s breath was hit out from her, her eyes never once leaving her features. Her eyes went from bottom to top, her entire being shaking.

She had never been so enthralled by anyone, but she had never been so frightened either.


	2. Yellow

The woman, presumably the Princess walked into the room so delicately it was as if her frame floated above the ground. She pulled her dark blue dress behind her, her long hair flowing elegantly. She sat in a large armchair across from them near the fire, her eyes violently glowed alongside the blaze. She pulled her lengthy sleeves down over her arms more, almost allowing her audience to peak beyond the cloth.

Angela stared up at attention, not knowing how to react around her at all. She felt a bead of sweat trail down her forehead. She wasn’t ready for what was about to happen next.

“Fawkes, entertain them, please.” Her voice was absolutely frigid yet it held good intentions.

Jamison returned to the front of the room, sitting in the chair nearest her. As he sat he made sure to get himself comfortable.

Torbjorn was half wanting to run out, half wanting to be respectful, so he unwillingly sat in a chair next to the omnic.

Angela, however, was stunned in absolute silence by the way she moved and spoke. It was so intriguing. She wondered how anyone could hate such a beautiful woman.

He cracked his knuckles against the chair arm, and opened his mouth, readying himself for a rather harrowing tale.

The blonde noticed the golden eyed woman look at her, making firm eye contact for a few moments before staring away quickly.

“Long ago when the land was still young, this castle was inhabited by a group called ‘The Crusaders’.” He began, resting back, the Princess looking at him like he was telling a story she had heard many a time. “They protected us all from enemy forces as well as the rogue omnics who created their own army.”

Torbjorn sighed, grumbled and then continued listening.

“However, one day, the Crusaders vanished, leaving the castle alone and untouched. No one in the town knew of what had really happened to them, and no one wanted to come and find out.” He paused, the outside world making an appearance. It was raining outside. “Years passed by, people were in and out, royalty died and new royalty lived. Each one seeing a crusader moments before they died. It grew custom for people to see them before their death, even outside of the castle.”

Two of the castle’s staff appeared holding platters with food and tea cups sat upon them.

Torbjorn nearly jumped at the sight of them, clinging onto Bastion for his dear life.  
  
Bastion let out a high-pitched chirp, afraid after the tiny man jumped on him. They held on another for several minutes before Torbjorn glared and let go.

Jamison laughed loudly, breaking Angela from her constant trance. “I wasn’t even finished, but okay, Mr. Lindholm, I’ll stop it there.”

The Princess sat forward, grabbing a cup from a woman with long hair with purple highlights at the end.

The two never spoke. One was tall with an owl mask seemingly nailed into his face, the other was shorter with long brown hair and a rather mischievous facial expression. They both wore dark blue tuxes with black ties that matched the princess’ dress.

“Sombra.” The Princess began, lifting her glass to her lips.

“Yes, your grace?” She spoke rather quickly, winking at the Princess as if knowing something they did not.

“Merci beaucoup.” Her voice grew deeper as she said this, and then she finished with, “Your hard work is appreciated.”

Sombra rose a brow, her tie coming out from her jacket as she bowed in thanks.  She left without another word.

The other masked man bowed his head and then left, an aura of pain coming off him as he walked.

Angela carefully and politely sipped from her glass, feeling a shiver go down her spine. They locked eyes again. She paused her next sip, the other not looking away this time. She nearly spat out her drink, but she contained herself. With her mouth, full of tea, she smiled, she then saluted her glass at the princess.

Widow continued staring, not once making a single facial expression nor saluting back.

She swallowed her tea loudly, cursing inside her head directly afterward. Although angry at herself she kept a well composed smile. She took another sip, a full one, not afraid this time.

“Why are ya two staring at each other?” Torbjorn barked, “I feel like you two know something I don’t.”

Angela half choked on it, half spat it out into the air.

Jamison quickly tackled himself into carpeted floor, pulling out a measuring tape from his pocket. “A new record!” He then began to dab out tea from the carpet with a cloth. “Saved.”

\--

Fareeha tossed a ball up into the air and then back into her hand, she heard a knock on the door to her small office. “Come in.”

Ana walked in, leaning against the door. “Genji told me about who you have your eyes set on.”

“Isn’t she beautiful?” She asked, smiling dreamily, her cheeks darkening.

“I’m curious as to why you’d marry the town’s witch.” She put the last word quite nastily.

“She’s not just a witch.” She sighed, looking away from her.

“What about Satya? She’s a nice girl.” Ana offered, poking her daughter on the head.

“Angela is much more alluring.” She countered, glaring at her mother. This argument would go nowhere.

\--

Torbjorn waited by the door impatiently with the omnic. Bastion was too large for the small wagon, his head peaked out from under the dark blanket.

“Are ya coming, Angela?” He asked, looking at his pocket watch and then back up at her.

“I—“ She was cut off immediately as her sentence started.

“I’d like to talk with you, Ms. Ziegler.” Widow quietly talked over any of her future words.

Angela’s face flushed, she turned around looking at her.

Torbjorn nodded, knowing fully well that he should make his way out. Angela had wanted to stay anyway, to talk with the one she couldn’t keep her eyes off. He pulled the heavy wagon behind him, taking the omnic to the city, leaving the capable witch with the strange spectacle of a princess.

The doors shut with a clatter, leaving only Widowmaker and Angela to themselves. She felt a hand grab her face, pulling her in, she felt the other’s lips touch hers.

She had been caught in a web.


	3. Cursed

The shadows cast on the other’s face haunted and intrigued her as she was pulled away from Widow’s body, slowly.

A gasp came from Jamison as he noticed this act of what seemed like love. “You’ve cursed her…”

Widow lifted Angela’s chin, gazing into her eyes with absolute intrigue.

Angela’s lips parted, a gasp leaving them quietly. Cursed? A pain cut itself into her right arm, she felt light headed, her brain whirring around in a twist. Her stomach knotted as she felt her legs start to bend beneath her own weight. She looked to her arm, the one burning and stinging. She threw up her sleeve, watching as the words “araignée du soir” carved themselves, the words glowing like embers.

The princess pulled her own right arm, revealing the word “Cauchemar”. Both words seemed to react to one another, both receiving the same pain. She smiled in a sickly fashion, watching as Jamison neared them.

“Are you sure she can…?” He asked aloud, watching as the Princess nodded. “But, remember what happened to… Gerard.” He asked, his eyes widening more so.

“She’s not _him_.” She spat the last word, glaring down her nose at him, her eyes miniature suns, burning brightly in protest.

When the pain turned to an ebb, Angela fell to her knees, the Princess sighing in relief.

“What have you done to me?” She asked, her voice scratchy and raw.

“We’re bound by contract.” Widow said calmly, looking down at her feet. “I’m desperate, Ms. Ziegler.”

“Why me?” She replied quickly in almost an audible hiss.

“You can reverse this, can’t you?” She asked in a pleading tone.

“Reverse the contract?” She asked in disgust, her own glare beating the other’s. “You did this to me, can’t you?”

“Not the contract. This curse. Can you reverse this curse?” She moved forward, grabbing Angela’s hands, only to be jerked away.

“I’m a witch but you can’t just trap me in your castle with a contract I didn’t agree to and then plead to me to reverse this curse you speak about. Do you expect me to feel remorse for you? You’re just as bad as the legends tell, _Widowmaker_.”

A hurt look filled the blue toned woman’s eyes, leaving her to silence, she watched as the blonde stood up, holding to her arm.

Angela turned to the door, putting her hand to the wooden surface. She jerked her hand away, a burn on the palm of her hand. “Mein gott!” She growled, turning around to face the woman who now stood.

“You will die if you leave this castle, miss. I’m sorry.” Jamison broke the silence.

Angela’s eyes turned from anger to fear and sadness and disbelief. “What?”

“You’re bound to her, she’s bound to this castle, and she’s set to die unless you save her.” A raspy voice came from the darkness, the man in the owl mask emerging.

“You can’t just…” She started, stuttering. “You aren’t… this isn’t…”

“Fair.” Jamison filled in, sighing, looking to his pocket watch. The moon light peaked, casting eerie shadows upon every surface.

“I- “She buried her face into her hands, then looked back up quickly, her blonde hair a mess.

“Angela, please.” The one with the purple hair came from what seemed like nowhere.  
  
The witch grew overwhelmed, her world turning black as she hit the carpeted floor.

\--

The argument between mother and daughter had gone on for far too long, leaving the young Fareeha tired and worthless feeling. She set her face into her arms, sighing. She sat up, opening the small glass window to allow a cold breeze to flow in. She needed fresh air.

Why was her mother so disapproving of Angela? She was a very well rounded and sweet girl who was extremely smart, but she just happened to be a witch. What was wrong with that? Angela was magical even without the fact that she practiced it. Her personality was just so alluring and amazing and glorious that Fareeha couldn’t stop thinking about her. She groaned, feeling her inside curl into a knot.

She hated this feeling, the feeling of getting nowhere. It was as if whatever she tried she’d get up the wall and back to the ground again, realizing that the wall was the same wall as before. She set her head into her hands again, letting out another sigh. She’d go on a walk, yes a walk, that ought to help her. She got up and walked out of the small building.

With her head held high and her lungs clear and full of fresh air, she walked around the forest just outside of the town. She sat on a log from a tree that had been cut down earlier that week in preparation of the winter ahead of them.  She heard movement in the forest and looked around, then realized it was only the wind and wildlife. She closed her eyes focusing strongly onto a memory.

She sat in her mother’s lap, laughing and talking and making up songs. Her mother had always told her to be quiet in case the omnics would hear her and come and get them during their raids. She would fall asleep in her mother’s lap and smile and dream of a future without those terrifying robots. She always hated them with a passion. She remembered when a blonde girl with a dirty face and bright blue eyes wandered into their bunker, coughing and shaking and hurting from a wound to her leg. How her mother patched her up and protected her as if she were her daughter too.

Her memory was shattered when she heard a cart being rolled down the dirt path. She saw the small inventor carefully pulling a large something behind him. Fareeha followed him once he passed.

“Mr. Lindholm, what have you got there? Do you realize the time?” She asked in an authority driven voice.

“Yes, yes, I just made a late night stop to a friend to pick up something they needed fixed.” He answered, continuing.

“Mind if I take a look?” She asked, grabbing for the tarp.

“It’s sensitive to the dark.” He answered quickly, putting his robotic appendage onto the tarp’s other side.

“Sensitive to the dark?” She asked, raising a brow. “Things are sensitive to the light, not the dark, Mr. Lindholm. What is it?”

“It’s just a washing apparatus.” He claimed, gently putting a flap back down.

“Well, then let me see it.” She requested again, tugging on the tarp.

Before long a beeping noise was heard, followed by the tarp being thrown off and revealing the friendly blue optic’d omnic.

“What on Earth?” She growled, glaring at the omnic.


End file.
